


Sheared Short

by AngryPirateHusbands



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Everyone Is Gay, Ficlet, Haircuts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 07:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8480749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryPirateHusbands/pseuds/AngryPirateHusbands
Summary: Silver gives Flint some flack for his new hair.





	

" _Christ_ , what happened to your hair?

Flint had just returned to his cabin when those rough words met his ear. The man glanced up to see Silver relaxing back against the window seat where he had come to spend so much of his time. A book rested open on his lap and his crutches were leaned nearby against the wall, but those eyes were trained on him. Blue oceans wide in a perplexed expression, with an ever so slight smirk on the lips that had parted in surprise. He offered a short grunt in reply.

"Gambling isn't permitted on the ship. Shouldn't you know that, Captain?"  
  
This time Flint couldn't keep silent. "Beg pardon?" he asked, casting the man a stern gaze.

Silver had by all appearances resumed his reading, yet the quip that came next did so without pause. "Assumed you must have lost a bet of some sort." The smirk that raised the corner of Silver's mouth only grew.

Flint exhaled sharply through the nose as his glare only hardened. While he couldn't care less what anyone thought of it, let alone _Silver_ , he still found his palm smoothing back over the freshly sheared scalp. "You're in rare form," he muttered as he moved over to his desk. Despite the sharp edge in his tone he didn't necessarily find it a bad thing. In fact, in some ways he actually felt a bit of relief. It had only been a little over a month since Silver had lost his leg, but it became apparent within days that he had lost something else as well. That spark in his eye, the turn of a smile, the lilt of a laugh that would accompany one of the men's jokes. The man was grieving something Flint couldn't even begin to understand. The physical loss was one thing, but with it went his freedom and independence. Perhaps even his pride, based on how he belly ached at having to use the crutches. To appear weak in any capacity.

"Yes, well," Silver hummed, "Whiskey has a tendency to lighten one's mood." Flint's mouth twisted into a slight frown. His words compelled him forward to pick up the dark bottle that was set beside him. He gave it an experimental tilt or two. Empty. When he glanced back at his new quartermaster the man was looking at him expectantly. "So...?" he continued, effectively interrupting his own brewing question about the state of his stump.

"It was a pain to keep clean," Flint explained simply.

"Who did it for you?" This time the question was followed by the soft turning of a page.

" _I_ did." Flint had seen Muldoon shear his head enough times to be familiar with it. Not to mention he often trimmed his beard and mustache with his own blade. It wasn't as difficult as Silver apparently thought.

A chuckle. "Did you at least give it a proper farewell?"

Flint fought the temptation to roll his eyes. Instead he began to reorganize the papers on his desk. Silver had let the window open for some fresh air and a breeze had scattered the various charts during his absence. "I let it drop over the side, if that's what you're asking."  
  
"Ahh," Silver sighed. "A burial at sea, how fitting. I'm going to miss that queue." Even with his back turned Flint could hear the smile in his voice.  
  
Flint shook his head with a scowl. "You mock me, with that ridiculous beard you're trying to grow?" he returned.

When Silver suddenly gasped, he turned to see the man clutching his chest in feigned pain at his insult. "You wound me, Captain!" Flint offered a snort and went back to what he was doing. "Besides, you don't seem to mind it much when I'm sucking your cock." This time Flint managed to drop the book he had been holding. "It's finally starting to come in even now-" 

Flint moved to interrupt him. A thumb traced down the man's jaw before settling underneath his chin. Silver looked up at him with slightly parted lips. It astounded him sometimes, truly. He could shout and swear, cast glares in a way that sent most running, and throw things in a fit about the room. But what never failed to make Silver grow silent was his touch. It was as if the lightest stroke of a finger caused any words to fall flat on his tongue. Flint now took advantage of this and pressed his lips against the corner of Silver's mouth. Unsatisfied, the quartermaster cradled his jaw and captured those lips in a proper kiss. Flint groaned, loving the way that stubble scratched against his own beard. His lips were soft and warm just as they always were, and tasted of whiskey.

When they finally parted Flint couldn't help the question at the edge of his mind. "Is it really that bad?" he asked, his voice gruff.  
  
Silver chuckled and shook his head. "No. I like it, actually..." As he spoke he reached out. While Flint flinched slightly, he fought to keep still as Silver explored the shorn head with his fingertips. "Makes you appear more... dangerous. Fearsome." Flint hummed. The sound was low and gravely in the back of his throat. "You should definitely grow it back out one day."

"One day.." he agreed. It was a half hearted promise, but one nonetheless.


End file.
